That evening, Jelo laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his face twisted with worry. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the room, making everything feel heavier somehow. Atlas had been studying him for the past hour, watching the way his friend's jaw clenched and unclenched, the way his eyes seemed to focus on nothing at all, the way his breathing would occasionally hitch as if he'd forgotten to breathe properly. He didn't want to pry or ask questions—Jelo would talk when he was ready. That's how it always worked between them. They'd been roommates long enough to understand each other's silences.
But after what felt like an eternity of tense silence, after watching Jelo shift positions three times and sigh heavily at least a dozen more, Atlas couldn't bear it anymore. The worry was practically radiating off his friend in waves, filling the entire room with an uncomfortable pressure.
"Are you okay?"
